


Becoming

by citrinesunset



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 21:57:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5643334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citrinesunset/pseuds/citrinesunset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abigail isn't broken--she's transforming. But a small part of her still wants to be saved.</p><p>Post-season 2 AU. Spoilers for the season 2 finale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Becoming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Allekha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allekha/gifts).



> Written for Fandom Stocking, for Allekha. I love Will and Abigail's relationship, and it was fun to try my hand at writing Hannibal fic.

Will Graham was the only other person who knew what it was like to be abandoned by Hannibal Lecter.

Abigail could hear the barely-concealed worry in the voices of the doctors and FBI agents who interviewed her. They thought she might be brainwashed, and if she told them the truth, they would think she had been.

They wanted her to feel relieved to be rescued, but all she felt was anger and shame that Hannibal had deemed her unfit to kill or take with him.

But as the days passed, and the flesh of her throat knit itself back together to form a new, thicker scar, her despair lessened to a sense of awe as she considered what she'd experienced.

She wanted to talk about it, but Will had been discharged, and she wouldn't speak to the reporters who sometimes came by the hospital looking for her. She was well enough to go home, but she had no home, and the FBI seemed happy to keep her under medical observation while they found somewhere for her to go.

She said she wanted to go outside for a walk, and she slipped away.

It took her a couple hours to beg enough money off strangers to afford a cab. She was good at spinning a story when she needed to. When her dad took her hunting, she'd learned to keep a calm, genial demeanor even though she knew the girls she spoke to would be dead soon.

Will was at home when she arrived, and came outside as the cab stopped in his driveway. A good thing, as she realized she might not have enough cash to pay the driver, after all.

He still moved slowly, but he didn't betray any pain as he walked. When he was close enough, Abigail opened the car door.

"Do you have a five? I'm a little short."

"I'll get it. Save your cash."

She got out and waited for him on the porch while he paid the driver. He'd left the door open, and she heard the sound of claws clicking on the floor. A couple dogs came out to sniff at her, and she bent down to pet them.

Will didn't ask for an explanation, and he didn't ask if she'd been discharged from the hospital. But it must have been obvious from her lack of suitcases that she'd escaped.

"You can stay here as long as you want," Will said, "but this is the first place people will look for you."

"I just wanted to talk to you. I don't have to stay."

"You have less than fifty dollars. You might want to consider staying the night, at least."

She didn't want to admit how badly she wanted to stay. She felt home already, and Will's house was nicely secluded. She'd spent so much time hidden away in dark rooms, listening from upstairs while Hannibal entertained guests. She craved the sunlight and the open expanse of land, but she also craved the solitude.

While Will made them dinner that night, Abigail washed up in the bathroom and changed the dressings on her neck with supplies from the medicine cabinet. Her throat was healing, but there was still a row of ugly stitches holding the cut together. For the first time, she got a proper look at the wound.

Abigail pushed her hair back and turned her head, ignoring the twinge of pain in her neck as she tried to get a better look at the scarred hole where her ear had been.

It was strange—the worse the scars got, the less they bothered her. There was something freeing in accepting her brokenness. She felt like a slab of marble that had been chipped and carved at. She was transforming. All statues were rough before they were finished.

She didn't try to talk to Will until after dinner. She could sense that Will was still hesitant to discuss what happened. Some small part of him, perhaps, still wanted to deny it. But she needed him. She didn't think she could do this alone.

"I think I know why he left us," she said with a small smile.

Will was silent. He was sitting beside her on the couch, his hands wrapped around a cup of coffee.

Abigail continued. "He's not finished with us."

Will looked at her. "I know," he said plainly, not betraying if the thought frightened him or made him happy.

Perhaps, like Abigail's feelings, it was a mixture of both.

"I'm not afraid," she said. "Not anymore. I'm not afraid of dying."

"Don't say that," Will said, his voice so harsh it surprised her. More softly, he said, "I've lost you once. I won't let anything else happen to you."

She knew Will had always wanted to be her hero. He wanted to save her from seeing the things he'd seen. He wanted to be Hannibal's diametric opposition.

Deep down, she didn't know if that was possible. But she loved him for trying.

It was a dangerous thing to want to be saved.

"I believe you," she said.


End file.
